


this is gospel

by enbyofdionysus



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan, The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alley Sex, Blow Jobs, Clubbing, M/M, Public Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 23:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9852413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbyofdionysus/pseuds/enbyofdionysus
Summary: For some people bad habits consisted of biting nails, ice cream at midnight, and cracking knuckles.For Apollo, bad habits consisted of black curls, green eyes, and brown skin.





	

For some people bad habits consisted of biting nails, ice cream at midnight, and cracking knuckles.

For Apollo, bad habits consisted of black curls, green eyes, and brown skin.

In his own defense, he never meant for the encounters to happen: mortals were fragile creatures susceptible to Death at any age and so Apollo made it his duty to fall in love with them as little as possible. He never slept with the same mortal more than twice (okay, thrice).

Until Percy Jackson.

The first time had been unplanned – a sloppy hand-job in the quiet of Percy's bedroom when Apollo was still the freckled and chubby Lester Papadopoulos. The second time had been planned – Apollo's attempt at redeeming himself by fucking Percy into his mattress in all his godly glory. The third time had been the last time: a mistake of muscle memory, of soft lips and softer noises, of pure want rather than thought. But that had been years ago. Apollo was a different god, a smarter god, a god who knew better than to give into–

The fourth time was outside a nightclub.

Apollo hadn't meant for it to happen. He had gone out for the sake of going out, a luxury he couldn't always afford now that he had his responsibilities back, and found himself at _Mist_ – one of his favorite queer nightclubs in New York City. The bass was pulsing up through the floor and into his veins. The two whiskey sours he'd had were giving him a pleasant buzz and the confidence to dance. And, to add delight to luxury, between the drag shows and roars of applause Apollo caught sight of a tall drink of water on the bar and, well. Apollo was thirsty. He couldn't see the guy's face, but he could see all he needed to see: emphatic hands as the guy spoke to the bartender, thick thighs clad in tight jeans, and an even thicker ass Apollo could purchase as a crop of land to bury his fingers in.

As he drew closer, Apollo began to memorize details: the stranger wore a sleeveless shirt with torn sides so low he may as well not be wearing a top at all; his hair was shaved in the back and gradually grew into a nest of black curls Apollo wanted to lay in; and when he turned his head just so Apollo caught sight a pair of eyes so startling he nearly tripped, eyes he knew too intimately to belong to anyone else but–

“Percy Jackson.”

Those startling eyes turned toward him, held him, destroyed him.

And then crinkled as Percy frowned. Over the sound of the DJ, he said, “Apollo?”

The world swam back all at once. The bass of the music had changed and turned to something fast, upping the tempo of Apollo's heartbeat and making him sweat. There were far more people around than he remembered. “What are you doing here?” Apollo asked.

“I live here,” Percy said, like it was obvious. And it was: Apollo had forgotten _Mist_ was in the Upper East Side. Fuck his immortal life. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Apollo answered, “Dancing,” because it was true. Then he added, “Hunting,” because that was also true.

Percy's eyebrows went up as did the side of his mouth. “You haven't changed.”

Apollo's eyes dragged across Percy's calves, thighs, ass, and hips, the ripple of muscle on his stomach through the open sleeve of his shirt, the swell of his biceps, the cords of his neck, the angles of his face. “Neither have you.”

Percy barked a laugh. He turned so he completely faced Apollo. The shirt moved with him, giving Apollo a wonderful glance of skin. “Did you just check me out?”

Apollo held his gaze. “Absolutely.”

Percy knocked his fist against the bar. He turned away to shoot back whatever drink was in his glass. When he'd finished he said, “I'm not your sex toy that you can have whenever you want.”

“I don't think that of you,” Apollo assured him. “If I did, be sure you would see far more of me.”

Percy laughed again, but this time he brought his thumb to his mouth and Apollo knew he liked what he was seeing. He took advantage and stepped closer, closer.

“How about,” he said, “we get out of here.”

Percy lifted his chin and asked, “What did you have in mind?”

**

If there was one thing Apollo knew about Percy Jackson it was that he liked things to be as sloppy as possible. And, although Apollo himself preferred bedding his lovers on feathered beds where he could take them apart piece by piece, he had to admit there was a thrill in pressing Percy up against a cool, brick wall in the alley just outside the club.

He could still feel the thrum of the bass in his feet. There was a faint stench of garbage further down the alley, still warm from the day’s coat of summer sun, but it was a smell he could easily ignore in lieu of Percy’s cologne and sweat. Percy’s shirt was balled in Apollo’s fists. He pushed it up, up.

“Gods,” Apollo muttered to himself because, really, one should not be overwhelmed so easily by a mortal’s hazel skin, by a mortal’s hips pushing forward, by a mortal’s lips saying his name in a raspy, desperate breath. But Prometheus had outdone himself with Percy Jackson the same way he’d outdone himself with Hyacinthus.

Apollo took a moment to stare openly.

Percy stared back, dazed from kisses but aware enough to be confused. Cars honked a street away. A woman was talking to her mother in Spanish on a fire escape somewhere above them. Percy’s curls were sticking to his forehead. His shirt was hiked up to his armpits, nipples beading in the cool, night air. Apollo wanted them in his mouth. He let his fingers swallow them instead, his lips finding Percy’s mouth, already parted and waiting for him.

Percy groaned, sagging just so on Apollo's jean-clad thigh. And, in that moment, Apollo decided being overwhelmed by Percy Jackson was something he was probably never going to be able to stop, was something he never wanted to stop.

And he was okay with that.

He slid his lips from Percy’s mouth to his neck, then his chest, stomach, and finally his hips as he sank to his knees on the alley floor. Stones pressed hard into his knees and he had to adjust himself to find comfort. Apollo’s fingers found Percy’s belt and tugged.

“Hold your shirt up,” he said.

Percy whispered, “Fuck,” and clawed his fingers into his shirt. After a moment, he thought better of it and pulled it up over his head so it rested taut across the back of his neck.

Apollo managed Percy’s belt easily enough, pulse thrumming at the sensation of Percy’s cock pressing impatiently back against his fingers as he undid the zipper. This, he realized, was his favorite part of going down on someone.

He undid the button and pulled the elastic of Percy's briefs down, down.

Percy’s cock was hot in the palm of his hand. He stroked it loosely for a moment, familiarizing himself with its thickness and the soft color of the veins beneath sensitive skin. Finally, he looked up and caught Percy’s heavy gaze. He held it firmly. Moved his head forward, forward. His mouth opened. A thrill went through him at the exact moment Percy closed his eyes.

Apollo calmly inhaled through his nose, groaning at the familiar musky scent, at the familiar salty tang as Percy's cock slid toward the back of his throat. He reached up with his left hand, feeling the smooth skin of Percy’s stomach with his palm, the delicate swell of muscle beneath his fingertips. He made a sound of surprise when Percy’s own hand covered it, fingers sliding between fingers until they were holding hands.

It felt oddly intimate given Apollo’s position on an alley floor, but he squeezed Percy’s hand nonetheless. With his remaining hand, he held the base of Percy’s cock and hardened the press of his lips around the tip. Percy swore. His thighs quivered.

Apollo internally smirked.

His tongue found the sensitive spot he knew Percy rubbed to tease himself when he was alone and closed to his eyes to the series of breathy moans sirening themselves from Percy’s mouth. He tugged his fingers from Percy’s grasp and raked his nails rudely down his stomach while pressing forward with his mouth, swallowing around him.

Percy wouldn’t last long. He never did when Apollo had him like this.

He proved his own point when he drew his hand away from Percy’s cock and held the demigod’s thighs fast with both palms, pressing him firmly against the wall as he went down, down, then up, up, and back down.

Percy let out a series of garbled sounds, his hands running over his own chest in an attempt to place them somewhere, anywhere. They dragged over his nipples, making something tug low in Apollo’s gut, before one settled amongst his sea of black curls.

Percy gasped, “ _Apollo_ ,” and then choked when Apollo swallowed around him. “I– _Fuck_.”

Apollo stared up at him, unyielding. He reached back between Percy’s thighs without question.

Percy stared back, curious, then shuddered hard with a grunt. He went quiet, mouth open in a silent plea.

Apollo waited patiently. His finger crooked, rudely, just inside Percy’s hole. And, just like that, Percy fell apart inside of Apollo's mouth.

**

Apollo had a rule: he never slept with the same mortal more than twice. This rule existed to keep him safe from falling in love and it had kept him safe for hundreds of years. But with rules there's always exceptions.

And for Apollo, that exception consisted of black curls, green eyes, and brown skin.

 


End file.
